2014.03.02 - The Warlock and the Starchild
Alternate London In a city known for having old architecture, it's really saying something when it all just looks run down. And that's exactly what's going on here in London. Historic sights like The London Eye, The London Bridge, and The Tower of London still exist, and appear to be intact, but they all just appear to be shabby and run down, just like every other building in the city. But the buildings aren't the only things that appear shabby in this city. Even the roads, and the people themselves appear to be anything but at their best. The roads more often than not are cracked or have huge potholes, while the people tend to be in threadbare and old looking clothing. Or at least the few people who are out and about appear that way. Because if everything else weren't strange enough, it's almost as if there's few, if any people out in the open in this once bustling metropolis. It is always raining in London. But this year has been particularly bad. As if wasn't bad enough the war has entered in the 100th year of world war. But at least it is not Paris. Paris has been under siege for six years, they say they have resorted to cannibalism after eating all the rats. In London the ration cards have seen a small reduction of the bread and meat allowed. They said it is just for the winter, but no one believes it anymore. At least the rain means less enemy bombers. Even formerly wealthy families like the Greys are going through bad times. Most of the men died on the trenches, of course, except for a few that returned home too crippled to fight. Like Rachel's older brother, poor Nathan. Except... no, that is now what happened. Half an hour ago Rachel wasn't in this bleak, war-worn London. She was in Westchester, just out the Danger Room and about to have pizza at the school cafeteria. Now she is here, with two sets of memories in her head. One of them related to an endless World War I that has devastated the world. A world with no super humans that is just plain depressing. But... she is there. Rachel Grey walks under leaden, bruised skies as the rain falls unrelentingly on the ravaged city. The collar of her long coat is turned up against the weather, but it's not enough protection to stop the cold water that's already soaked her red hair, darkening the usually flaming red colour. The tails of her coat, tattered now, slap wetly against her legs as she walks. Even though she's never known a world without war, she can still remember a time when any coat of hers would have been replaced long before it got into such a state, donated to one of the charities set up for the maimed veterans, or the families rendered homeless by the incessant bombing. Not any more, though. The Greys' slide from their comfortable existence has been long and drawn out, but it shows no sign of reversing, or even levelling off. Still, Rachel would at least still have an intact roof over her head if she so chose... but she couldn't remain in the house a moment longer, today. No. Rachel suddenly comes to a halt on the pavement, blinking rapidly and taking a hand out of her coat pocket to rub at her forehead. No. She's not Rachel Grey. "This isn't right." She says, under her breath, barely audible, as she looks around at the buildings surrounding her. The bomb damage makes her flash back to her own New York for a moment, but only for a moment. She knows that's not where she is. It doesn't matter how convincing, how compelling, the memories of this place and this war are. They're wrong. They have to be. She's only just gotten her head pulled back together, she's not going to let it be messed with again. "I'm Rachel Summers." She says to herself. Her voice is still low, but she needs to hear herself say it. "This isn't my world." She sounds less doubtful with each word. "And whoever's messed with my brain this time is really gonna get it." There's a vehemence to that, and for Rachel - and only Rachel - it stops raining, as a telekinetic shield arrives over her head, her memory of her powers kicking back in. A moment later, and all the water soaking her clothes is removed by the same means. "Better." She says with a little satisfaction. "Now what the hell's going on?" That was half an hour ago, and Rachel still has no answers. She's tried scanning the minds of the other people around her, but to them, this is reality. Harsh and gray but still reality. Only the simple fact of Rachel's more than human abilities - and the fact that she's having to cloak her use of them from everyone else around her - prevents her from thinking that she's the one who's insane. For half an hour there is nothing that hints Rachel that she is not going insane. Or maybe her mind jumped realities to some nasty alternate timeline. Those things happen to X-Men every so often. But then she spots the anomaly. It is almost nothing, an old black computer keyboard on garbage can. Usually perfectly normal. But there are no computers here; technology is in the 30s at most, that is clear in one set of Rachel's memories. It is an anachronism, or maybe a crack in the fabric of reality. For Rachel it almost feels like an anchor. Half an hour is just enough time for Rachel to begin to doubt her conviction that she's not the one who's crazy here. The illusion - if it is an illusion - is so complete, so flawless, and the minds she's scanning too free of deception... But wait. She's hiding her powers from those around her, because every mind she's scanned has been unaware of mutants, or superhumans of any kind, so no-one is reacting to her use of them. But if no-one is reacting to Rachel's powers... is she using them? Does she possess them? Is she even keeping the rain off herself, or is that all in her mind, too? Has she suffered some catastrophic break with reality, that's made her imagine she's someone, something else? Rachel's psyche's been damaged before, and it's enough to let those doubts begin to creep in, even if her stubbornness is keeping them from taking hold for now. Even so, her steps have become that much quicker, her eyes have become that much wilder as she glances around, and although she's trying to look everywhere at once she's seeing less and less... But she does see the computer keyboard, and once again she freezes in her tracks. For a long moment she looks at it, then reaches out a hand, concentrating, drawing the keyboard towards her with her telekinesis. As it arrives in her hands she lets out a careful breath. "I'm NOT crazy." She tells herself, turning the keyboard over in her hands, then walking across to where she found it, casting out with her powers, looking for anything else that doesn't belong, anything else that can lead her home. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Than a spark. The contact isn't with a normal human mind. It is too fast and too bright, concepts and strange perceptions running like quicksilver on a dense web of abstract ideas that seem just out of human comprehension. It is not quite there either; it seems to hover between reality and unreality. At least until Rachel draw its attention. Then it seems to solidify, and 'look' at her with curiosity. Reality wavers. For a moment Rachel can see modern hybrid sedan turning around the corner. Then it fades into a battered wagon drawn by mules. "You can see the truth," the voice is little over a whisper. "It won't be long before the original reality asserts. But you... you shouldn't be able to notice this incursion. Who are you?" Nothing? Rachel's fingers clench around the keyboard, the plastic squeaking in protest at the pressure she's exerting. Rachel won't /accept/ nothing. The air around her heats up as she puts more of her psionic strength into her search, demanding answers, seeking something she can use to tear herself out of the false reality she finds herself in. Around her, a faint mist forms, made of raindrops flashing to steam as they fall, not even reaching her telekinetic shield now. The spark is enough. Rachel is hyper-aware, all of her telepathic senses straining to their maximum. The faintest touch of something else, something that belongs in this world even less than she does, and she reacts. Her focus narrows, but the intensity of her scrutiny remains - and then the presence looks back at her. The double vision is disconcerting, and Rachel staggers, putting out a hand to catch herself against the closest building as reality flickers before her. But she doesn't let go the mental contact. And as the strange presence questions her, Rachel acts. She pushes herself out of her physical body onto the astral plane, intent on chasing down the contact. Her astral form is surrounded by red-gold flame, but remains unburned, the eyes white hot and blank, the black claw-mark brands on her face standing out, while her astral body is clothed not in the tattered coat worn by her physical body, but in a spiked leather jacket over a red and yellow jumpsuit. "I'm Rachel Summers, and you have no idea what I can do." Her voice is utterly confident. "But if you're the one who stuck me here, you're about to find out. Who are you?" "Merely a witness, a pilgrim," replies the voice. "Like you, Starchild, I was drawn here, as the pull of reality and time is weak over those like me." The voice comes from the rundown, gutted building Rachel just passed, a building that from the astral plane glows with sinister flames. "My name is Adam," announces the voice, sounding more real now. It is not from the Astral Plane, however. It belongs to a physical being, although obviously his perceptions reach the Astral space. Rachel cocks her head to one side as if weighing the voice's words, even as her astral form turns toward the building the voice issues from, those white eyes narrowing as she sees the flames wreathing it. Not the most reassuring sight that she could see. She's about to say as much when he calls her... "Starchild? What did you call me?" She asks on reflex, surprised and sounding halfway to being offended. As the voice continues to speak, Rachel's astral avatar folds its arms. "Lucky for you." She says under her breath. Since it's becoming obvious that she's dealing with a nearby physical presence who's making no attempt to strike at her or flee from her, Rachel allows herself to return to her body. Straightening up from the wall she's been supporting herself against, she turns on her heel and begins walking back toward the building housing the unusual presence. Within three steps her clothing has shifted around her to approximate that she was wearing on the astral plane. Stopping in the doorway, waiting for the presence to make itself known, she replies. "Just Adam?" Getting her tense, automatic reaction under control, Rachel continues. "You seem to know what's going on here. Care to share?" There is a rusty plaque at the side of the gates of what must have been a sumptuous mansion a century ago. It read 'The Hellfire Club' and some unreadable gibberish. Time has been unkind, and at some point there was a fire involved. "Lucky? No. Never." Answers the voice. He stands at the end of the lobby, at the feet of a shattered staircase. A ghost of what must have been a tall and powerful built man, transparent. "As you see this fleeting shadow keeps me from fully manifesting now. I never came to be in this reality. But my existence is not so easily denied." He pauses. "What happened here is a century ago a band of foolish occultists attempted to summon a demon, and drew the attention of the ruler of one of the Shard Realms. A corrupt Faltine called Dormammu. Reality shifted twice in the span of... no time, in truth. Most mortals wouldn't have noticed. But you did, Starchild. You are of the blood one of the abstracts, a cosmic entity, but... which one?" Despite her earlier confidence, even bravado, Rachel still hesitates before taking the final step that would bring her inside the burned out building. The structure is giving off a very clear haunted house vibe, and that's something that makes the hair on the back of Rachel's neck want to stand up, regardless of the amount of power she wields. And considering the way her eyes seem to glow, even as she's silhouetted against the falling rain outside, it's clear she hasn't let go of one iota of that power. But Rachel does take that step, ghostly figure at the end of the lobby notwithstanding. She wants answers. And in any case, running away's not her style. She takes a few more steps, too, until she's well inside the building, facing the spectre that waits for her. His words make little sense to her, but she discerns no threat in them. The talk of demons, and of mortals, as if he is not one himself... Rachel's shoulders shift in a sign of her growing unease. "I'm not going to pretend I underst... wait. I'm WHAT now?" Rachel's tone started off as one of irritation, quickly shifting into surprise, as the odd figure's words registered, cutting off the demand she was about to make. "I told you. I'm Rachel Summers. I'm not... all right, I'm a mutant, but I'm not the... blood... of... oh hell." In Rachel's mind, it falls into place. She knows what Adam's getting at. She's Rachel Summers, daughter of Scott Summers and Jean Grey, but she's seen Jean do things that no human, no mutant should be able to do, and she's touched the fire that made it possible. Touched it, known it, and felt it know HER. "The Phoenix." Rachel's tone is controlled, even though it's a little late. "You're talking about the Phoenix, aren't you?" Rachel holds the ghostly figure's gaze for a moment before she looks away, around at the shell of the building that surrounds them. "All right." She says quietly, then looks back at Adam. "All right. So I know this..." She waves a hand. "Is all wrong. What can I do about it?" "I suppose so." Muses Adam, thoughtful, "calling It 'Phoenix' resonates strongly with the collective subconscious of humankind." He stares at Rachel for a few moments. If he wasn't a ghost it would probably be a very unsettling gaze, even now it feels as if he can see directly into her soul. Perhaps this is how the psi-blind feel when Rachel stares and is mind-reading them. But he says nothing, instead he steps back. ""We do not have to do anything. Reality shifted and realigned a hundred years ago. You are experienced a fleeting shadow of what could be because you are who you are. This is a... moment between moments. We are not here and we will never be here. I came to learn, you... on the other hand, I think sleepwalked here." "You SUPPOSE so?" Rachel blurts out when the mention of the Phoenix only gets a mild, thoughtful response from whatever it is she's talking to. Clearly having a cosmic firebird take an interest in her is bigger news to her than it is to him! And if it's not worthy of more of a reaction from him... what would be? Rachel's not entirely sure she wants to find out. Particularly when his translucent eyes are looking at her so disturbingly. She holds his gaze, but it's an effort. Finally, the moment breaks, and Rachel tries not to look too relieved. And what am I? That's the question that Rachel doesn't ask. "Sleepwalked? That's... something I'm going to try not to make a habit of." Levity feels wrong, and curiosity wins out. "Adam? Just who - and what - are you?" "Someone with a strange life, Starchild," replies the ghost, looking somewhat melancholic. "I began my life on Earth, but I was touched by the cosmic power from the beginning and I sought my destiny among the stars for many long years. I only very recently returned to my birthworld." He hesitates, "I did so for a reason. And since you also came here, and from another time, perhaps the same reasons that have brought me back also took you here. We should talk again." He raises a hand, which seems to gain reality and substance as he gathers his power. "Since you came here unwillingly or unconsciously, you might have some difficulties stepping back. Let me show you how it is done, and perhaps you will be able to do the same on your own soon." Now power flows more strongly. A power perhaps familiar to Rachel. Jean Grey used the same kind power to vastly enhance her mutant powers a few times. Adam is not using it at the same scale, but he is more subtle and precise as he slices reality like a surgeon, pushing Rachel out of... nothing. London fades out. Westchester fades in, more colorful, more real. The other world... was just a shadow in comparison, bleak and tenuous. Rachel is alone, though. Adam stayed behind. That's no answer at all, Rachel doesn't say. Picking a fight with this being doesn't seem to be in her best interests. Besides, he's continuing to speak, and if his answer's light on specifics, at least it's something. "Yeah, that might be a good idea." Rachel says the words, unsure if she's not opening a door that she'd rather keep closed. She's still musing on that when Adam raises his hand, and she feels his power come to life. "Hey, wait a minute..." Rachel begins, not entirely comfortable with surrendering herself to this being's power, but her objection comes too late. The power takes her, and she's back where she started, as if she'd never been anywhere else. Maybe she never was. She quickly looks around, looking for Adam, searching with both her eyes and her mind and coming up empty. "Yeah." She says again, quietly. "I think we're going to have to talk again, Adam." Category:Log